“Hi, Maga dear,” I said, trying out her term of endearment.
“Oh, Abby, hi.” Her tone was heavy with recognition and resignation. “I’m so lonely.”
I pushed down my guilt and pulled up my empathy. “Don’t I know.”
Maga’s silence left me questioning the tone of my statement. I meant that I could understand the feeling. Not that I knew she was. Before I could explain myself, Maga continued. “I’m so old.”
“But, it looks good on you.”
She chuckled, but her heart wasn’t in it. I promised to call another night this week when we had more time to chat because my trivia team obviously didn’t know Tuesday night was Our Night and they kept me out too late.
“Sounds fun,” Maga said, not meaning it at all, even though she was the one who posed the question about my Trivia Team’s standings. “Well, I’ll let you go. It’s late there and you have to get up and go to work tomorrow.”
I can take a hint even when it’s not served on a silver platter, and so I vowed to myself to call her on a less busy evening. Tuesdays may have started out as ladies night, but it’s been overrun by Trivia, and so we need to reclaim another evening. Two ladies, two time zones, one family history. It’s worth rescheduling for.
Abigail Mumford 